Knife 刀
by Mary Oliver 玛丽 奥利弗
飘尘 译
Something 什么东西
just now 此刻
moved through my heart 正穿透我的心
like the thinnest of blades 像红尾鸟曾拍击
once with its great wings 巨大的羽翼
and flew above the gray, cracked 飞上这灰色，裂开的
rock wall. 岩壁。
It wasn"t 这不是
about the bird, it was 在说鸟
something about the way 而是在说岩石存在
stone stays 的模样
mute and put, whatever 无论什么从身旁闪过
goes flashing by. 它总是无声耸立。
Sometimes, 有时
when I sit like this, quiet, 我这样静静地坐着，
all the dreams of my blood 融化在血液里的，我所有梦想
and all outrageous divisions of time 还有，时光里，我所有的冲动
seem ready to leave, 似乎准备要离去
to slide out of me. 溜过我的身体
Then, I imagine, I would never move. 于是，我想象，我从来不会动。
By now 此刻
the hawk has flown five miles 鹞鹰至少
at least, 已飞去了五哩
dazzling whoever else has happened 无论是谁，只要向上望去
to look up。 都会感到眩晕
I was dazzled. But that 我眩晕，但这与刀
wasn"t the knife. 没有关系
It was the sheer, dense wall 是陡峭，厚实
of blind stone 无痕的石壁
without a pinch of hope 没有丝毫希望
or a single unfulfilled desire 或是未实现的奢望
sponging up and reflecting, 海绵般地吸收，反射
so brilliantly, 如此辉煌的，
as it has for centuries, 那太阳的火光
the sun"s fire. 仿佛过了几个世纪。
